


Arise From the Ashes

by TearsoftheMoon17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Unless they're named Umbridge), Alternate Universe, Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Damaged!Harry Potter, Dark Doesn't Equal Evil, Dimension Travel, Gen, Light Doesn't Equal Good, Master of Death!Harry Potter, MoD!Harry Potter, No Bashing of Characters, Some angst, Somewhat mute!Harry, Time Travel, Triwizard Tournament, Two BWLs, Two Boys Who Lived, Universe Travel, World-Jumping, alternative dimension, other-than-a-Gryffindor Harry Potter, wizarding world politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-16 20:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11260650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearsoftheMoon17/pseuds/TearsoftheMoon17
Summary: After freeing himself from an undisclosed amount of time of imprisonment and torture, Harry Potter is given an opportunity to start again and be free from the shackles of the Chosen One. He takes it and finds himself in a world where there was no Lord Voldemort. Here his new mother has died, but he still has a chance with his father if he's willing to take that chance. So, while he still struggles with the horrors of war and torture from a previous life, he finds himself settling down and finally relaxing as he could never before.However, the prophecy was uttered in this new world and while Harry (now Hadrian) isn't the Chosen One this time, he'll find that old habits die hard when the bell tolls for two in this world's Triwizard Tournament . . .EXCERPT FROM LATEST CHAPTER:Careful to not tear the letter, he opened the piece of paper and braced himself for an outlandish request or idea from his mother. Instead, as Marvolo began to read his mother’s words, he came to the realization that contents were not like he had expected of a typical letter from his mother. What had gotten instead was a letter of accusation.His mind whirled as certain sentences stood out to him.





	1. A Gift of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [C'est La Vie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390668) by [cywscross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross). 



> IMPORTANT NOTICES BEFORE YOU START READING: Canon doesn't matter here. No ifs, ands, or buts. Savvy? Also, while I have three chapters completed and have started the fourth, it doesn't guarantee I'll finish this. I could get hit by a bus, have a heart attack, choke on a pretzel, or lose inspiration and the drive to finish this. I do promise to try my best, though. :) The last important notice is that I am a college student and will be returning to classes late August so updates may become spotty during my fall semester. (I will try my best to write ahead quite a bit so I can give you an update at least once or twice a month.)
> 
> UPDATE SCHEDULE: I hope for one a week or every five days, but RL happens, you know? So we'll see how that goes. 
> 
> WORD LENGTH: Each chapter will be at least three thousand words long. Though I will have a minimum length (so I don't just jot something down and call it a "chapter"), the lengths of the chapters will vary depending on where I feel the chapter should end. This means that one chapter may be five or six thousand words long and another chapter may be ten thousand. (Probably obvious, but thought I would clarify.)
> 
> INSPIRATION: Tons of dimension-jumping HP works have inspired me, but C'est La Vie really got me where I couldn't stop myself from writing this fanfic. C'est La Vie is a really good fanfic, but here's a fair warning: the author didn't transfer it over to this site until 2015, but the last time she actually updated it was in 2013. So don't expect an update any time soon. (Still might want to check it out. I read it like four to six times a year. xD)

In the flickering light of a candle, Harry Potter’s body loomed over a trail of dead bodies as he searched for a brief proof of remaining life. He wanted with the Elder wand in his right hand for a raising chest, fluttering eyelids, or a breathy plea for undeserved mercy. His heartbeat raged in his eardrums like the beating of a time bomb, ticking away the remaining time he had left before someone noticed what had occurred in the depths of the ministry. But Harry’s eyes never strayed from the corpses, needing the absolute confirmation of their deaths. He could touch them for such an answer, yes, but gagged at the thought of touching his once-capturers, instead willing to wait. An indefinite number of minutes passed and not once did the bodies move.

Harry exhaled, washing away the tension that had made its home in his body for the duration of his imprisonment. However, gone were his steady hands and in their place were the shakiness of a newborn lamb. He could hardly keep his grip on his wand as his mind swirled with questions that he wasn’t sure that he could answer and information that he could had difficultly processing.

What was he going to do?

He, the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One, had actually murdered not one person but instead _multiple_ people.

To make it worse, those people had been Unspeakables and that information only made Azkaban more likely.

But even if he managed to avoid being convicted of these murders, it would not matter. If not those dead Unspeakables, there would be more like them chasing after him like one would go after a goose that had a habit of birthing golden eggs. After all, Harry Potter was now an excellent test subject. Between surviving the killing curse and the tattoo upon his left shoulder blade, he would find no shortage of witches and wizards who dabbled in experimentation.

He would never have the chance for peace.

A bitter laugh broke through Harry’s chapped lips. Even if no one desired to cut him open to see what made him tick, peace was never an option for a person like him. He could swear that he had been marked by Fate herself to drown in a constant wave of tribulation and life-threatening challenges. So what did it matter anymore?

Take away that he had been captured and forced to undergo such things he wished to never speak of.

Take away the fact that he had just murdered several people, however justified.

Take away that Harry clearly could not trust the minister and his group of advisees of purebloods and whoever had been deemed as “trustworthy” and “honest.” They had complete authority over the Unspeakables and had actually been down here in this hellhole to see the results, providing proof that the Unspeakables had acted alone.

Take away the gloomy future of a fugitive that awaited him the moment he walked out of the ministry.

What was left? Love had come and gone from Harry’s life swiftly like a summer storm. All that he could claim to be friends and family had either fallen at the hands of the enemy or succumbed to death in the middle of nowhere in a hidden safe house. Whatever children that Harry could have or the life he managed to build brick by brick were nothing but ashes in the wind. There was no glittering future on the edge of the horizon for Harry Potter. No, what awaited instead was a storm of hardship and suffering that he didn’t have the strength or courage to bear.

There was no silver lining in this storm. No happiness, or at least no happiness that would end without some form pain. For how could he make a life on the run?

So if Harry Potter held no future, then what exactly was the point of running? What would he be able to gain if he survived like he had always struggled to do? In Harry’s eyes, there was nothing and no reason to continue onward fighting as he always had. He was tired now, the war with Voldemort having drained him of such energy. He was alone once again, but there was no half giant to open the door to bring him a dazzling new world.

There was only death.

Harry tugged his shaggy hair with his free hand, clenching his teeth not from pain, but sizzling anger. Oh, if only Death would welcome him into the fold of the deceased. However, it seemed that it was not an option for dear old Harry. Nothing had granted him that escape during his time down in the dark hallways of the inner ministry.

Absolutely nothing.

It was not for the lack of trying either. Between what the Unspeakables had attempted on Harry and what Harry himself had tried to accomplish, there was not a thing that could cease his heartbeat. Harry seemed to be built to survive everything that would have killed another human being.

And he hated it. He was forced to remain on this earth, unable to reunite with his loved ones. It was cruel and Harry didn’t know what he had done to warrant such a curse. Was it because he failed to put an end to Voldemort sooner? Was it because of the blood of the fallen on his hands? What else could it be?

A voice echoed in his mind. “ _You gathered three items. Don’t you_ _remember_?”

Harry spun on his heels, his wand sparking with anxious energy. His mouth fell open at the sight before him. A dementor-like being hovered over the floor, its eyes akin to dim candlelight and shadows behind it shuddering. The hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end, but for the life of him, he couldn’t find it in himself to fire a spell. There was something familiar about the being as disturbing as that sounded. Other than how its appearance was akin to a dementor, of course. There was something else that Harry recognized, something that he could feel in its aura, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

 _“I suppose it matters not. You still completed the task even if you do not recall._ ”

Harry licked his lips, momentarily wondering if he perhaps had gone mad before he responded. “What task?”

The shadowy being’s face moved in such a way that Harry wondered if it was grinning. “ _The Hallows, the Deathly Hallows, Death’s Three Items, the Items of Three, Gifts of Death, and whatever mortals are calling in this age. You collected them and were deemed worthy of being the Master of Death. Though I have seen that you do not like the gift._ ”

Dots connected and Harry understood who the being must be, but that was not what important to him at the moment. He could try to process that little tidbit later on when he wasn’t filled with bitterness and rage at an immortal being.

“No, I don’t,” Harry spat, forgetting his caution in the heat of the moment. “And it’s not a gift. It’s a curse.”

“ _That’s what they all say, but then something happens and suddenly they’re grateful for my gift. I am certain the same will happen to you._ ”

“I doubt it.”

Death paused for a moment, seemingly allowing Harry to wallow before speaking again. “ _So you say, but that is not why I am here. I have come to offer you something that a great deal of mortals will never experience truly._ ”

“If it’s taking back the Hallows, they’re all yours. I don’t want them,” Harry said, hoping against hope that Death would lift his curse and allow Harry a reprieve.

“ _No._ ”

Harry grimaced and turned his gaze away from Death. “Then I’m not interested. I’m done being an errand boy.”

“ _Actually, Harry Potter, that is exactly what I have come to give you,_ ” Death whispered in Harry’s mind. “ _You might liken my offer to something being offered to you on a silver platter._ ”

That caught Harry’s attention and more importantly, his curiosity which was something that had always led him down dangerous paths despite common sense. It was the bait that Death had known would work with his chosen master and draw him in.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, his caution returning in full force, but unable to stop himself from continuing the conversation.

Again, Death appeared as though he was trying to smile. “ _Freedom. That is what I offer. Freedom in another place, another world where you would not be bound by a prophecy or the manipulations of an old man. Freedom in its purest form._ ”

As much as Harry could appreciate the gesture, that was not what he wanted. He didn’t want to continue living even in a different world with a fresh start. He just wanted to rejoin his loved ones in death and rest in peace. So what good was a brand new life?

“No thanks,” he rejected. “I don’t see the point.”

“ _The point? You can begin with a new identity and actually live, Harry Potter. You could finish your schooling and find yourself again. The point is the opportunity._ ”

“But I don’t want opportunity!” Harry shouted, his hands clenched. “Don’t you get it? I just . .  I just don’t want to live anymore!”

“ _But_ —”

“I don’t care!” he interrupted, a storm raging in his veins. “If it’s not death or lifting this curse, then I don’t care. I don’t want whatever else you’re trying to give me.”

Harry’s voice bounced off the walls and faded, leaving them in silence with the exception of Harry’s angry panting. Death did not leave or strike him down as Harry half-expected him to, but instead let the silence rest between, seemingly content to let Harry have a tantrum.

Harry closed his eyes, suddenly tired and drained. Hadn’t he wished for peace? Hadn’t he cursed the fact that he would spend his life on the run? Even if he yearned for death, shouldn’t he take Death’s offer? However, the gesture was empty because Harry would remain alone and that’s not what he wanted. Even his new life could not cure his loneliness.

“ _So you don’t want to be alone anymore?_ ” Death questioned, reading his master’s mind as easily as one would read a newspaper. “ _Is that why you want to die?_ ”

“Partly,” Harry confessed. “Everyone I have ever loved is dead and now with more people after me, I don’t think I could ever connect to another person like I had with them. I could never build a life like the one I once had.”

“ _So dying is your answer_.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged. “Yes.”

“ _But that is simply not true,_ ” Death said. “ _You can build a life greater than the one you once had if only you accept._ ”

“But how can I trust you? How can I know that I will be happy in this other world?” Harry pressed.

“ _You cannot know for certain because even I do not know what you will do, Harry Potter. You could go, but later on decide it was not worth it. Or you could give it all you had and make a life that you could have never had here. It all depends on you, your happiness and misfortune because even I cannot control your actions. As for trusting my word, can you not sense the truth in what I say? I chose you and therefore will not lie as mortals do. Is that not enough?_ ”

Harry soaked in Death’s words, weighing his options. He could stay here and survive much like his godfather had, running until he made a wrong move. Or he could have faith in Death and start anew, having a life that perhaps would be more peaceful than his current one. After Death had spoken, Harry found himself leaning towards taking his offer, but there was something that he felt had to be addressed before accepting.

“What if I’m not happy there? What if I find no happiness to no fault of my own? What if my life turns out to be like this one? What then, Death?”

“ _Then I will end it. That I promise you._ ” Death’s voice was hollow as before, but with a hint of sadness dwelt there.

“Really?”

“ _Truly_.”

“. . . Then I accept,” Harry said softly, granting Death permission before he thought the better of it.

“ _As you wish,_ ” Death replied and reached forward, his dark skeleton fingers touching Harry’s forehead before pressing them against the sides of his head.

“What—”

“ _Live well, Harry Potter. Forget not who you were, but instead grow from him . . . And find your peace. You deserve it._ ”

And with a flicker of Death’s candlelight eyes, Harry disappeared from the wizarding world without a trace of magic or any other kind of evidence else to suggest what occurred in that torture chamber deep within the ministry.

“ _Death, you did not tell him,_ ” a voice murmured in the mind of Death, originating from a being of pure light in the vague form of a human.

“ _He did not ask_ _nor will it harm him. It will not affect his new life unless he forces himself right into the situation. So why tell him?_ ” Death responded, still staring at where his master once stood.

“ _But it changes not the price he will pay, Death_ ,” Fate said, steel in her voice. “ _He will have to fulfill his side of the bargain._ ”

“ _He will_.”

Fate scoffed. “ _How exactly? You did not tell him what he must do in order to be given a place in an alternate universe. If he does not do what I demand—_ ”

“ _You haven’t demanded enough of him already? Someone is getting greedy,_ ” Death interrupted, a protective note to his words. “ _That duty belongs to others in the new world, Lady Fate. Do not push that upon my master. He has done enough_.”

“ _Do not make me the villain here, Death,_ ” Fate said sharply. “ _And do not make it sound as though I want him to do everything. He simply must lend his hand in the war. No more, no less. I am not suggesting that he must perform as he did here._ ”

“ _He has done enough._ ”

Fate’s form of pure light wavered in the mist of Death’s darkness. “ _I agree, but it does not change the payment. Be glad for some must pay with more than extending help to those who need it._ ”

“ _And that world’s saviors is not enough? You have so little faith?_ ”

“ _. . . I fear that without this world’s Harry Potter’s help . . . the war may . . ."_

“ _Lady Fate?_ ”

“ _Things did not go as I planned, Death. That is why Harry Potter must help no matter how little._ ”

Death scoffed, any stirrings of pity and concern evaporating. “ _You mean you messed up and now you wish to have my master fix it. Tell me, Lady Fate, what is so wrong with your other chosen one?_ ”

“ _He is not like what I intended. That is the problem,_ ” Fate confessed painfully, sourness tainting her voice. “ _Well, he is_ part _of the issue at hand. His villain also went against what I planned and that started a string of . . . complications to put it lightly. Now the destiny of that world is askew and may very likely fall into oblivion._ ”

“ _And you think that my master, this world’s Harry Potter, will fix this? With just simple help? You know as well as I do that my master could fulfill your requirements with the bare minimum and that may not affect this new world’s future._ ”

“ _I know that,_ ” Fate admitted. “ _But I am willing to bet that he will not stand on the sidelines once he realizes what’s at stake._ ”

“ _You are willing to gamble the fate of another world on the fact that my master has a hero complex? Ha!_ ” Death barked. “ _How foolish. This world’s war has changed him greatly. I would not put all of your hope on him._ ”

“ _No, Death, you are the fool. This Harry Potter is a hero down to his DNA and that will not change with a mere war and months of captivity,_ ” Fate argued.

“ _Ah, Lady Fate, if only that were true._ ”


	2. A New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Honestly forgot to put this up. Oh, heads-up: the Auntie character is NOT an OC (original character). You won't realize who she must be until towards the end of the next chapter and it will be said outright clearly in chapter four. So trust me when I say that she's definitely canon. Also, I will updating tags as I upload chapters to avoid spoilers. 
> 
> Oh, I don't mean to be too vague about what Harry went through with being captured and all that. It's just Harry won't exactly sit down and think about it until either chapter four or five. Too much to deal with, you know?
> 
> Side note: Harry’s new eyes are a shade of green called seafoam and his new hair color is called sienna (a particular shade of brown). (You can look them up.) I think they look really good together. 
> 
> . . . I think that's all I needed to say so have fun reading! Comments are always welcome.

The color white was all Harry could see as though it had been painted across his eyes. He had lost all sense of up and down, left and right. He was swallowed up by a sensation of his body being dragged across something new and unfamiliar, but did not feel as if he were drowning. The loss of his senses arose a prick of fear, but it was overwhelmed by a feeling of peace that he almost couldn’t name. There was a gentleness in the way his body was being handled, but he couldn’t tell you why or how.

Almost as fast as Harry named the sensation, it vanished and left him bereft in a cold environment. The ground, if that was it was, was hard underneath his body and prodded the bones of his back uncomfortably. However, Harry’s awareness wavered under his eyelids and he could not find the strength or willpower to adjust his body. He knew that his body ached and screamed for adjustment and healing, but the darkness of sleep beckoned to him, singing a seductive tune in the corners of his mind.

“ _Sleep, Master, sleep._ ”

“Death?” Harry breathed a hint above a murmur, having enough of his wits to remember what had occurred before this moment.

“ _Sleep_.” The order was clear in Death’s voice, but Harry could not curb his curiosity and thirst for answers.

Harry’s eyelids fluttered with very little energy. “What . . . Where . . .”

Death did not answer his poorly-formed questions, instead watching over Harry’s body until _she_ came. It would not be too much longer if Death was correct with the date and time. It should take only a few seconds more for _her_ to appear over the hill and see the collapsed body of Harry Potter. Not that she would ever mistake or recognized his master as Harry Potter, of course. Death had taken care of that, unwilling to create needless problems that would arise from Harry’s physical appearance. Hopefully, his master would appreciate his new look instead of being resentful or despising it.

“What—Oh, my!”

If Death could have grinned with delight, he would have. Instead, Death remained invisible and caressed his master’s forehead with parting words of demand.

“ _Sleep. She is trustworthy. She will not harm you_.”

He sensed the inward struggle within Harry Potter’s mind and was satisfied when sleep conquered. However, Death did not move to depart until the woman knelt down next to the boy and spoke words that whether damning or a welcome depending on your perspective.

“You’re just going to have to come home with me, now aren’t you, you poor boy?”

Pleased with how fruitful the results were, Death slipped away from the mortal world, leaving Harry Potter in the care of a woman who take great care of him and send him on his new journey.

* * *

 

Hours later, Harry Potter awoke once again in a place that he was unacquainted with and could not put on a name on it. However, he was not complaining too much when he realized that the hard, freezing ground had been replaced with what must be the softest bed to have ever been made. With the way that he practically melted against the mattress, Harry didn’t want to open his eyes and instead let his consciousness waver. Sleep was almost in his grasp, lingering at his fingertips, but it was not to be.

The sound of a door opening brought Harry back from the brink of slumber, switching his mind back into survival mode. He kept his eyes closed, however, and did not give any signs that he was conscious. He had learned during his time in captivity that people tended to have loose lips when they thought he wasn’t listening. Though this time that was not the reason to appear to be asleep. Harry, despite knowing that Death had said the woman was “safe,” was gearing up to flee by force if necessary. He had spent too much time treated like an animal to listen to reason that suggested play this by ear. No, he would rather be safe than sorry, thank you very much.

Just because she was woman did not mean that she wasn’t dangerous.

“Now, let’s see how—” the woman murmured, reaching out a wrinkled hand to touch Harry’s forehead.

His body reacted before his mind had a moment to process what was happening. Harry’s left hand grabbed the hand above him and his eyes flew open, ready to spit out a spell should the woman so much as twitch. Seeing the woman’s wrinkles and apparent age, however, made his resolve weakened, but he maintained his tight grip on her wrist. Though the surprise on her face was enough to awaken his guilt, Harry could not take a chance that this woman would do something to him. Just because Death decreed her worthy of his trust did not award her Harry’s trust as well.

“Well, well!” the elderly woman grinned, seemingly unbothered by Harry’s reaction. “For a sleeping beauty, you’ve got more energy than I thought you would have. I’m glad. I was worried when you finally woke up, you would be as weak as a baby deer.”

Harry didn’t reply, still focused on watching the woman and readying himself for whatever she threw at him. The woman was undeterred by this and continued as if she had practice with this sort of behavior.

“You can call me Auntie by the way,” the woman said with a smile. “Now you want to tell me what you were doing so close to my property? And how you got to be so . . .”

The self-named Auntie frowned as she trailed off, staring Harry straight in the eyes. Harry knew that she wanted an answer, but she would not be getting one from him. He would not be starting his new life in world labeled as a loon. It would be better to let her draw her own conclusions about his appearance as well and the wounds he had gained. Depending how old she estimated him to be, she may think he had escaped somewhere abusive and pity him instead of asking questions.

Auntie sighed, her fragile shoulders sagging. “I don’t suppose that you’ll at least tell me your name?”

Harry’s silence said it all.

Auntie shrugged and then regained her smile. “Then I guess I’ll have to call you Baby Deer for now.”

Seeing how Harry’s eyes widened, Auntie laughed, but wouldn’t change her mind. “Now what do you want for lunch, Baby Deer?”

Harry couldn’t believe how easily this woman had accepted wasn’t going to give her any answers. He thought she would at least press on for a bit longer to see if she could get him to spill his sob story. Instead, she had done the opposite and took his silence with a grain of salt, content to merely take care of him as though he were her own. He didn’t know how to handle that. Though he had experience with Mrs. Weasley, it had been so long that Harry wasn’t sure if he could even handle socializing anymore.

“Don’t know, hmm?” Auntie questioned, her eyes flicking down to her captured wrist. “You mind letting go, Baby Deer? I still need to check you over.”

The thought of letting the lady go despite how she had not harmed him yet made his stomach twist with anxiety. He knew this wasn’t logical, but couldn’t help being comforted that he had a little control over her actions. If he had control, then he could limit how much harm she tried to inflict on him.

I don’t trust her, Harry thought to himself. He would probably never trust her despite what Death said about her. His ability to trust in fellow human beings had been bent and tainted, scarring it to the point he wasn’t sure that you could call that feeling _trust_. It was more like skeptical wariness, a lessened form of distrust, but still not incomparable to the feeling of trust. He would never be able to trust in another person, Harry knew, and most likely would never be able to be completely relaxed into another person’s company.

So he couldn’t let go of Auntie’s wrist.

Auntie’s gray eyes were clear as he stared at her daringly, not so much as twitching his fingers. He felt no probe against his mind so he knew that he did not have worry about her trying to read his mind, but there was still a sense of _reading_ that Harry couldn’t sense. She used no magic, but he felt as though she was searching his eyes and his soul for some kind of answer to a question he had not heard. This sensation made Harry want to squirm, but he held still, a brief remembrance from his time in captivity flashing in his mind. He could remain still for a long period time now, he thought bitterly to himself. It had been drilled him quite enough.

“You can’t, can you?” Auntie murmured, her easy-going attitude surrendering to soft understanding.

Again, her words were met with only silence. Though Harry had easily spoken with Death, he did not feel inclined to speak other people. Not when he had screamed and pleaded himself raw. He found no reason to use his voice any longer. People were going to do and think as they wished despite what he said. Even if they were to actually take into account of what he said and listen, Harry could not physically get the words out. The words were trapped in his throat and trying to force them out caused so much panic that he couldn’t breathe. It was easier to remain silent

“Then can you move my hand so I can touch your forehead? I want to make sure that your fever left.”

No, Harry silently answered in his head. Even if he was given the illusion of controlling her hand, it would not be enough to guarantee that something negative would not occur.

“ _Let her_ ,” Death whispered in Harry’s mind, but not visibly seen anywhere in the room.

Harry swallowed and his fingers unconsciously tightened around her wrist. He couldn’t _bear_ the thought of her _touching_ him. Touch would certainly lead to pain.

“ _Let her,_ ” Death repeated, stronger this time. “ _She will not harm you._ ”

But—

“ _Let her, Harry Potter, or you will return to whence you came_.”

The threat loosened his grip on her wrist, but Harry was still on edge, waiting with shallow breath for the inevitable pain from the woman’s hand. As Auntie gently shook off his fingers, he could feel his heart throwing itself his ribcage like a thrashing animal against the cage’s bars. He felt trapped under the covers and under the hand of the woman. Just because there were not bars or spells to keep him in the bed did not mean it could not be a prison like them. Cages could be gilded and soft, but still remain a place of confinement.

The second that Auntie’s fingers caressed his forehead, Harry’s spine and muscles tightened to full capacity. Panic was flowing through his veins, but he remained still with a blind, half-baked hope that maybe his submission would be sufficient to go without punishment. This kind of reaction, Harry realized, was surprising to Auntie who had done nothing to warrant such behavior. However, it mattered not that he realized that this woman, Auntie, had been cleared by Death and that he was no longer among the Unspeakables. He had been through too much and had these expectations engrained into his mind and soul. He couldn’t escape them despite the logic still in his head.

Auntie’s sigh of relief almost had Harry twitching with surprise. “Your fever broke, thank goodness, and your . . . injuries are healing nicely, I think. I’ll have to check later when you’re more comfortable. Now all that’s left is putting some weight on you. Do you still not have an idea of what you want to eat?”

Auntie paused to let Harry answer, but moved on once she remained his inability or reluctance to speak to her. So she waved her question and away, stepping away from Harry’s bedside.

“Never mind. You weren’t going to answer me anyway,” she mused. “I’ll just have the house elves pick for you. I’ll be back later, okay, Baby Deer?”

Harry listened closely to the sound of the closing door, waiting for a click to signal that she had used magic to lock it, but there was only silence. It was this lack of sound that awakened a ray of hope in him, stirring pleasant visions of his new future. Maybe Death was right and he could trust this woman. Maybe everything would okay here.

“ _I only spoke the truth,_ ” Death murmured, allowing himself to be visible at his master’s bedside.

Harry let his body loosen and relax against his fluffy pillows. “I think . . . I think I know that now.”

“ _So will you cease your resistance with her?_ ”

“I can’t promise anything,” Harry replied honestly. “I’m still . . .”

“ _I understand, Harry Potter. All that matters is that you try. She is important to your new life here,_ ” Death revealed.

Harry frowned for one moment, but it smoothed over after a few seconds of consideration. “Ah, you’re talking about my socializing skills, right? And acting like a normal, undamaged person?”

He knew that he had a problem with speaking now and especially with other people. It didn’t seem to be an issue when he was conversing with Death because it was humans he had a problem with. However, looking back to just mere minutes ago with Auntie, it was apparent that it would be a hindrance if he did not learn to overcome it.

“ _. . . Yes, but that is not the only reason_.”

“I don’t understand. Why else would she be important to me?”

“ _You will understand with time,_ ” Death said simply before moving forward onto a different topic. “ _We need to discuss your new life here and all that it entails_.”

Harry breathed a sigh at the avoidance, but didn’t argue. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

“ _To start with, you must be made aware of your changes in both name and appearance. It is important that you become familiar and perhaps even like these changes. If you are to begin a new life, you must accept alterations_.”

“Wait, you changed what I look like?” Harry asked, his voice faint.

Death nodded. “ _It was necessary. There is another Harry Potter in this world and being his mirror image would bring needless difficulties into your life._ ”

Harry could understand the sound reasoning behind Death’s action, but that knowledge did not rid himself of the sense of loss in his heart. From day one in the wizarding world, he had been told that he was the spitting image of his father with the eyes of his mother and that had impacted him. Those comparisons had given him pieces of his parents that he hadn’t had before. Now that he didn’t have them anymore, it was like he had nothing from them in himself. This was something he could have dealt with if he had his photo book, but did not as he took nothing with him to this world.

“So I look completely different?” he questioned Death with a somber voice. “I don’t have anything anymore?”

“ _Yes, your appearance is no longer akin to James and Lily Potter. However, you still have your photographs to remember._ ”

“How? I didn’t take anything with me.”

“ _I gathered your things and brought to this world,_ ” Death responded. “ _But you must keep them hidden and away from curious eyes. It would not do you any good should anyone find them_.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you. I promise that I won’t show anyone.”

“ _As you shouldn’t. Now, Harry Potter, I suggest that you take in your appearance soon, but your age must be addressed._ ”

“My age?” Harry frowned. “What about my age?”

“ _I had to adjust it to suit this world and the identity that I have crafted for you,_ ” Death said, his words causing Harry’s stomach to sink.

“Death, what did you do?” Harry asked despite against wanting that knowledge.

“ _You are younger than you once were,_ ” Death answered vaguely before continuing onward to clarify. “ _You are now thirteen and recently so. Your new birthday just passed._ ”

“What?” Harry cried out. “That’s too young!”

“ _That matters not_.”

“The hell it doesn’t! That means I’m going to have to go through Hogwarts all over again!”

“ _And that is something you don’t desire?_ ”

“N—” Harry stopped, remembering a wish of his that he had confessed to his friends during the war.

He had said that if he were given the chance, he would start school over again and actually _enjoy_ it. The classes, the homework, the learning, and his friends, all of that would be something that he would submerse himself into and have not a care in the world. Voldemort wouldn’t be biting at his heels and plotting to ruin his life. He would be a normal student with a normal life, something that he would have peace in.

So while Harry did not like the fact he was so young again, he couldn’t deny that Death had given him something that he wanted dearly.

“Yes,” he confessed, warm with the idea of once again being in Hogwarts’ comforting hallways.

“ _I thought so_ ,” Death acknowledged. “ _As I mentioned before, your name has been altered._ ”

Harry snorted. “That’s fine. Being Harry Potter hasn’t been fun so far. What is it?”

“ _Hadrian Ignotus Peverell_.”

Recognizing the last two names, Harry flinched. “No thanks. You’re painting a target on my back if anyone’s looking for the Hallows.”

“ _It will not be a problem,_ ” Death soothed. “ _Claiming this name will bring you allies and good fortune._ ”

“Really?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Then it’s fine . . . I guess,” Harry mumbled, slumped against his pillows. “Anything else I should know?”

“ _The rest of your things are in your vault at Gringotts and this includes the Hallows_ ,” Death replied, pausing before adding more. “ _I also took the liberty of taking all of your wizarding money and putting it into the vault as well. As far as this world knows, that gold has always been there and is your inheritance as a Peverell._ ”

“Thanks . . . again,” Harry murmured before he thought he heard a creak way down the hallway outside of the room. “Is she coming back?”

“ _Yes. It matters not, however. Our conversation is at an end._ ”

Harry shifted against his pillows. “But we still have things to discuss. What about a house, _my_ house? Do I even have one? Where have I been staying until now? Are my . . . Hadrian’s parents alive?”

“ _You had a mother, but she has recently passed away. As for your house and where you have stayed, the goblins will inform you of those things and take care of it. I must leave now. My work waits for me._ ”

“What about my father? You didn’t mention him,” he pointed, curious as to what backstory Death had come up for him in this new world.

Death did not answer his question nor give an inclination that he had heard Harry, instead choosing to fade into the room’s thin shadows with parting words.

“ _We will speak again, Harry Potter, though not for quite a while. And perhaps under less . . . civil circumstances and temperaments._ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry whispered, keeping in mind that Auntie was going to be back any second now.

However, Harry received no reply and no time to consider Death’s last words before Auntie entered the room with a tray of food.

“Hungry?”

Harry took a moment to reflect on what Death had told him about this woman and reluctantly nodded, hoping against all his wariness that this bit of trust wouldn’t come back to bite him. The beaming grin he received in return, however, was what truly set his nerves at ease or at least less tense. He didn’t think he would ever be completely comfortable in her presence or trust her to full capacity, but Harry thought that just maybe he could find a comfort in the elderly woman someday.

But still, that day was not today so he still checked his food with a bit of wandless magic. He was relieved to find that it was untampered and potion-less, but would continue to check until the end of time. He had learned this habit the hard way and would not allow anyone to control him ever again.

After he took his first bite of soup, Auntie leaned forward with a concern look. “Is it good? It’s not too hot, is it?”

Harry swallowed and slowly shook his head, still highly uncomfortable with speaking with another human being. Despite how he knew that he would need to work on this issue if he was to go to Hogwarts again and act like an undamaged person, he wasn’t sure if he actually _could_. Speaking with Death had been vastly different because its aura was a balm to his entire being and he honestly felt the safest he could or had ever felt in his life. It was that safety and soothing that helped Harry use his voice and feel like his old self again. However, Death could not remain with him always and there would come a time when Harry would _have_ to converse with people.

Auntie clapped with joy, laughing as she did so. “I’m glad. Tippy recommended it, but I wasn’t sure if you would really like it. That’s why I had to bring it up to you myself. I wanted to see your face and get an honest answer. Now I know at least one thing you’ll eat, Baby Deer.”

Harry’s cheeks burned as he continued eating, listening to Auntie chattered about everything from her beloved house elf Poppy to lamenting styles for pureblooded women. Though he had once found idle talk to be annoying because of his nosy, critical Aunt Petunia, there was a kind of peace that came with Auntie’s talking. She wasn’t digging into his past or trying to trip him up, but instead seemed content to simply talk to him even though he only nodded or shook his head. It was nice.

Except for the instances like bathroom breaks, he spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening with Auntie continuing with her stories while he either ate or simply rested in his bed. It was only when night fell that Auntie stopped herself, noticing how Harry was starting to nod off.

“Oh, Baby Deer, I know you must be tired, but don’t you want a bath first? I cleaned you with a cleaning spell, but those things don’t always make you feel as good as an old-fashioned bath,” Auntie said, but then backtracked. “But you don’t feel up to it, you can take one tomorrow. It’s your choice.”

Harry nodded, answering her question with a positive. However, Auntie wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“Does that mean you do?”

He nodded again, moving the blankets off of him and swinging his legs to dangle over the edge of the bed. It was startling to realize that his feet couldn’t touch the floor without him scooting further to the edge of the twin-sized bed. He was going to have to readjust to his lessened height and size.

Auntie grabbed his arm, ignoring how Harry stilled under her grip. “Hey, slow down now. Let me help you. You were asleep for two days so you haven’t walked in a while. You’re probably going to need my help to the bathroom.”

Harry nodded to show acknowledgement and took a deep breathe before getting off the bed to stand on his own two feet. His legs weren’t as wobbly as Auntie had feared, but they were still weak enough for him to lean against the elderly woman as they made their way to the bathroom. It was strange to feel another person’s warmth at his side, but after spending a peaceful day with the slightly hunched, gray-haired lady, it was easier to resist his violent instincts to put her down before she could do him any bodily harm. Not to say that these instincts did not flutter inside his veins, demanding that he do _something_ , _anything_. Its influence was simply weakened slightly, though still required that Harry continually reminding himself that she was trustworthy, backed by Death who had given him a new life and name. That had to mean something and honestly, Harry didn’t want to risk screwing up his new life before it even began.

However, that didn’t mean him wouldn’t protect himself when necessary.

The bathroom door creaked open, allowing Auntie and Harry to hobble to the edge of the bathtub where Auntie helped him perch. After making certain that Harry wouldn’t topple over, Auntie reached over to start the water for his bath as she hummed to herself.

“I know it must seem strange that I don’t have my house elves do this sort of thing, but with my age, I wouldn’t get out of bed if I let them do everything,” Auntie explained to Harry, groaning as she straightened her back. “It certainly doesn’t help that I spent quite a while without house elves when I was younger.”

Auntie’s smile did not dim, but there was a sense of sadness in the lines of her face now, reflecting something unknown to Harry. Perhaps she was a kindred spirit, Harry thought to himself as he observed Auntie’s body language to pick out subtle movements that maybe would tell him about her sadness. He noticed how there was a slight shakiness in her hands, but that could easily be dismissed as a sign of her fragile body. So maybe he was seeing something that wasn’t there and merely projecting his own trauma onto her so he could have someone to relate to.

Reminded of his captivity, Harry felt a rush of anxiety when Auntie made no sign of to leave the bathroom. Why wasn’t she leaving? Was she intending to _watch_? Maybe this afternoon had been a complete act and she actually was some pedophile or maybe wanted to drown him. It wasn’t like that would be a new or greatly painful experience, but it didn’t mean that he would _enjoy_ it. Harry’s palms started to sweat and his heart pumped in his chest, loudly reminding him of how vulnerable and weak he currently was. Without a wand and physical wellness, Harry wasn’t much stronger than a drowned kitten.  

Or maybe she wasn’t planning on drowning him just yet. Maybe she was going to draw him into a false sense of security and once she was out, the door was going to be locked and trapping him inside. Maybe when she was healing him, she realized that there was something wrong with him and his magic and the way his body healed—

“Hey,” Auntie soothed, either unaware or just ignoring how her voice and her hand on his head had Harry freeze. “It’s okay, Baby Deer, _it’s okay_. I’m just running your bath, okay? Then you’re going to have your privacy and if you want, you can lock the door behind me. I won’t mind. Is that okay?”

She pet his hair with a gentle hand, slowly trying to smooth his panic away. It worked somewhat, leaving Harry in a confused state of receding panic and embarrassment. He realized how his momentary fears had been irrational when comparing how far she had treated him and Death’s recommendation of her, but he had no control over them. His time in the dungeons of the ministry had scarred and twisted his mind in ways that Harry couldn’t control despite his logic. Why else would he have such bizarre ideas when the woman was simply helping him?

Harry exhaled, feeling as if his lungs were shaking too and closed his eyes. He had to pull himself together. This was embarrassing and _definitely_ not fitting of an adult wizard. If he couldn’t handle someone helping him, how on earth was he going to survive society and Hogwarts?

“Feeling better?”

Harry nodded, reluctantly opening his eyes to see Auntie backing away from him. He was both relieved and saddened by her movement, but made no effort to keep her there. As much as he wanted to trust her and what trust he actually had in her, Harry didn’t want to have to depend on anyone else in this new world. If he was ever going to move on and shed the trauma that came with being Harry Potter, then he needed to establish his independence as soon as possible. While he could accept help that he required with his injuries, Harry would take no further mental or emotional help. So, no, he didn’t reach out to Auntie despite the comfort he wanted from her again. He was adult, albeit one in a child’s body, but nevertheless he was mentally an adult. He could handle himself.

“I’ll be back to help you back into bed, Baby Deer, but there’s no rush. Just relax, okay?” she told him before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

Harry flushed at the mere idea of Auntie tucking him into bed like he was a child. However, Harry supposed that was how she saw him due to his age. Though being thirteen years old granted him the title of teenager, he was still four years away from being a legal adult in the wizarding world and thus could still be seen as a child. Just because he understood this, however, did not mean that it didn’t frustrate Harry.

Reminded of what came with his new physical age, Harry peeked behind his shoulder to look at the mirror over the sink. It was tempting to avoid mirrors and other reflecting surfaces, but he knew that he would have become accustomed to his new features. He didn’t need to acting suspiciously surprised when he inevitably caught his reflection in a passing glance. It was better to be prepared, but it didn’t require Harry being happy with it.

With strength that will surely leave him after this, Harry struggled to the toilet and rested there for a moment before standing to lean against the sink. He avoided eye contact with the mirror, preferring to wait until he was ready. He remained there, building up the courage and finally taking the dive to look at his reflection.

The first thing that Harry noticed was that Death let him keep the color of his eyes and this comforted him enough to keep analyzing his new features. However, instead of the dark emerald green that he had inherited from his mother, Harry noticed that the color was different and that he was mistaken. His new eyes were many shades lighter and he thought perhaps there was a hint of blue mixed it. There was surely a name for it, but as names for different shades of colors were unhelpful in the task of defeating a dark lord, he didn’t know it. He did not hate it, though, and held comfort in the fact that he could still say that he had green eyes like his mother despite the differing shade.

Beyond the somewhat familiarity in his eyes, Harry noted that his cheekbones were more defined and his skin was paler. Gone was his tan that he had developed in his youth and during the war, though it may had disappeared sooner during his time in captivity. His hair was very dissimilar and was in fact almost the exact opposite of what he had before. Much like his eyes, Harry’s hair was lighter and now could be described by Harry as chocolate brown with maybe a hint of red. That was most likely not what the shade was actually called, but it was as close as he could get. His hair was no longer messy and untamed like James Potter, but now was more under control, slightly wavy and hung about half an inch above his shoulders. It was certainly different than what Harry Potter had been born with and with no imprint of Lily or James in his features, no one would ever mistake him for their child.

With this in mind, Harry reached out to touch his reflection and smiled, mentally asking for forgiveness as he said goodbye to Harry Potter. As much as he had been loved by his friends and family barring the Dursleys, that name and legacy had brought upon him pain, suffering, and crippling loss and after everything, he didn’t have the strength or willpower to survive as Harry Potter. No, Harry couldn’t live that anymore and thus, that identity had to be shed. Though he would never forget and would always be thankful, Harry had to move on and start a new life as a new person. He needed to let go of the grief and start anew to make something better.

Maybe as Hadrian Ignotus Peverell, he would finally have a peaceful, joyful life.

* * *

 

Miles away from where Harry was spending his time pondering becoming Hadrian Peverell, there was a manor in which a particularly dark, pureblooded family resided. They were the Dolohovs and they were cruel as they were power-hungry. However, it is not them that was the darkest one currently in their home. No, that would go to—

“Lord Grindelwald,” Antonin Dolohov said proudly, practically oozing satisfaction from his pores as he bowed deeply to the blonde-haired man sitting in the manor’s finest chair.

Gellert Grindelwald smiled and leaned forward, fiddling with his wand as he did so. “I take it that your mission was a success?”

Antonin nodded, eager to please like a demented puppy. “Yes, my lord. The minister took to the idea as though it was the finest wine. All is in place now.”

“Excellent,” Grindelwald purred, his smile mirroring his follower’s satisfaction. “And there was no resistance on the matter of two champions? None what so ever?”

“No, my lord,” Antonin answered promptly, eying his wife Delphinus as she entered the sitting room. “In fact, he thought it would reinvigorate the public and sway their opinion into a brighter light. That way it would be reoccurrence and in turn, better his political appearance.”

Grindelwald chuckled, continuing to smirk as he eased back into his seat. “What a fool, don’t you agree, Antonin?”

“Yes, my lord. There is no greater fool than our minister.”

Grindelwald chuckled again and deemed Delphinus his attention. “Ah, rejoice, Lady Dolohov. Your husband has succeeded and due to his efforts, everything will fall into place.”

Delphinus smiled and mimicked her husband’s earlier bow with her curtsy. “Congratulations, my lord.”

“Your joy is noted,” Grindelwald said before turning his attention back to Antonin. “I believe we have earned a celebratory activity, don’t you think, Antonin? And it can’t be a simple glass of wine or a feast, no sir. I’m thinking something more enjoyable and more . . . muggle.”

Antonin caught the hint. “Perfect idea, my lord. Shall I fetch some?”

“Yes,” Grindelwald replied, thinking briefly before saying more. “And make it ten or so, will you? I’m feeling particularly creative at the moment.”

“Yes, my lord.”


	3. A Place of Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry will be called Hadrian from now on. There will times when he will refer to his previous life and perhaps himself as Harry Potter, but he will dominantly be called Hadrian.

The morning held many things that would have woken Hadrian up, but it was the sound of birds chirping that was responsible for the disturbance in his sleep. It was not because the chirping was loud or irritating that caused him to wake up. Instead, it was the peaceful and normality of such a sound that calmly eased Hadrian from his slumber. The sound was like classical music to his ears, gentle as a feather and soothing. He found peace in the birds’ noises and just laid there on his back, wondering if he could somehow listen to it forever.

Hadrian couldn’t recall the last time he had enjoyed and soaked in morning chirps of birds. He had lost track of time inside of that dungeon-like room in the ministry so he couldn’t give an honest estimate. Was it a month? It had to be at least a month for it could feel no shorter and he disliked considering the possibility of his captivity lasting longer than a month and closer to a year. He momentarily entertained the idea of biting the bullet and asking Death how long it had been, but he truthfully didn’t want to know. What was the point besides torturing himself with lost time? No, if he were to really be Hadrian Peverell, then he needed to let go and not dwell on his life as Harry Potter.

This life was new and untouched by tragedy and pain. Why taint its purity so soon and at all? Hadrian didn’t need to do that and really shouldn’t. He needed this to be good, to be better than what he left behind. After all, if it wasn’t better and good, what would be the point of sacrificing his life as Harry Potter?

With renewed investment in his new life, Hadrian sat up and noted that he did not ache as much as he had the previous day. It had been easier to sit up on his own and as he moved, his body did not protest as much. This clear improvement brought a smile to Hadrian’s lips and a sigh of relief. At this rate, he would not take too long to heal and have to depend on Auntie for a quick trip to the bathroom. However, he was unsure as to what he would do first when he regained the ability to move on his own. Seeing as he was told that the goblins would have all the information that he would need for this life, Hadrian thought it would be best to do that first. Though he could not deny his first instinct to lie in a field somehow under a cloudless sky. It was certainly a waste of time and would accomplish nothing of importance, but Hadrian craved the simplest of things that he had been denied for so long. He wanted to experience a warm summer’s breeze caressing his cheeks and threading through his hair. He desired to spend an entire day doing nothing at all, but lazing about in half a dozen differing locations. He wanted simplicity that he had never gotten before.

But Hadrian was not a child. He knew that logically a trip to the bank was required to be best informed and to settle into this world. It was there he would get all the information he needed and start to learn to be Hadrian Peverell truly. There was also the matter of his wand and the Hallows.

Just thinking about being wandless caused distress in Hadrian’s system. Though he had mastered a few handy spells wandlessly, it did not mean that he could survive in a duel without his beloved first wand or the Elder Wand. Having at least one of the wands in his possession would greatly ease his nerves so the bank would have to be his first destination once he was able. Lying about or enjoying simple things would have to wait until then.

“Ah, you’re already up, Baby Deer? I was so sure that you would fall back into your eternal slumber,” Auntie teased over the creaking of the bedroom door and the clunking of silverware on the tray she was holding.

Before Hadrian had a chance to crack a smile or nod his head, a pop rang and a house elf appeared at Auntie’s side.

“Mistress is not to be carrying meals!” the house elf scowled at Auntie, making grabby hands for the tray. “The Healer said so, Mistress, and Mistress must be obeying his orders or young Master will be sad.”

Auntie scoffed, but let the house elf take the tray from her. “I think you mean irritated, Tippy. My son thinks that I’m an infant or a toddler of some sort. Why else would he think that I need so much looking after?”

“Tippy thinks Mistress is forgetting what trouble she got into during her school years . . . and afters,” Tippy mumbled good naturally as she gave Hadrian the tray. “Now, mister, please don’t be like Mistress and listen to orders. Stay in bed like a good boy.”

Hadrian blinked and nodded dumbly as Tippy disappeared, unsure as how to interact with this strange house elf. She didn’t act like other house elves that he was used to in Hogwarts, but there was a bit of similarity in her actions that reminded him of his own two house elves. It was this likeness that distracted him and caused an ache in his heart. While he knew that Dobby had died and he had buried his elf friend, Hadrian was unsure of Kreacher’s fate. Had the elf been killed? Or was the poor house elf still home, awaiting a master that would never return? Either option did not lessen Hadrian’s pain.

Auntie brought him back to the present. “You better eat while the food’s warm, Baby Deer. Don’t want to have to call Tippy back, now do we?”

Harry’s lips twitched in response to her teasing as he picked up his fork, digging into the scrambled eggs.

“Now that’s better,” Auntie mused before jumping right into her chatterbox mode as Hadrian ate.

Much like yesterday, he didn’t find her chattering annoying and it instead eased his subconscious grief and guilt. Between her gentle voice, the tasty food he was eating, and the extremely fluffy pillows supporting his body, Hadrian almost couldn’t remember why he had been upset just minutes ago. Almost.

Despite how he enjoyed Auntie talking, he couldn’t shake off the image of Kreacher staring at the front door like a pet dog eagerly waiting for his master to return. This image invoked a vague sensation of claws in his heart, tearing slowly and carefully the more he pondered Kreacher’s fate in his original world. And it sparked a dangerous flicker of doubt in Hadrian. Though he had known for certain that his beloved friends were deceased and that many of the people he knew were buried six feet under, what if Hadrian had left behind loved ones who would never know what happened to him? What if he had been wrong about the deaths of the people he knew? What if there had still been people for him in his original world? What if now because he had left, they would have to mourn him?

Hadrian swallowed a mouthful of eggs along with the bitterness that arose in his mouth. No, Hadrian was glorifying the truth now. He wasn’t remembering clearly, that he knew. There had been no one left for him and no life for him as a person on the run. The sad thing was that he had left absolutely nothing behind worth regretting. With the ministry clearly not in control of their Unspeakables and the murders he had committed, Hadrian had lost only a chance of mimicking the life of Sirius Black on the run. There was nothing else left to mourn or feel an ounce of regret for leaving behind.

Except Kreacher. That was the one thing that would haunt him in this new world.

Lost in his thoughts, Hadrian’s ears didn’t catch the hoot of an owl until it was perched on his blanket-covered leg and he felt the faintest prick of its sharp talons. Upon noticing the dark-colored owl, he dropped his fork and retrieved the letter that bared his new name with beautiful cursive in black ink. He wondered for a moment who wrote to him until he saw Gringotts Bank plastered on the letter and it answered whatever question he could have. Death said that he had taken care of things and that the goblins would answer his questions about his new identity. That had to be what the letter was about, most likely telling him to meet them as soon as possible.

Hadrian opened the letter, casting the envelope with little interest and focused his attention on skimming the letter’s contents for anything important. Hadrian shrugged to himself when he was finished and mentally acknowledged that he had been correct about the letter’s intentions. He had nothing to worry about except a quick response to notify the goblins of when he could meet them. While he considered how long it would take him to heal, Auntie’s hand slipped over the blankets and grabbed the envelope, hungrily taking in the name.

“So your name is Hadrian Peverell,” Auntie said, her gray eyes speaking of thoughts that Hadrian had no information on. “That ends that mystery, I suppose. However, I must admit that I thought you were maybe an Edward or Leopold. Hadrian suits you, though.”

She paused, her eyes staring back at Hadrian and searching for something only she knew. It made him feel somewhat uncomfortable, but thought perhaps the reason behind it was his last name. There was no mistaking that it was the surname of an esteemed pureblood family and if Auntie was a pureblood, she was most likely attempting to recalling ever hearing his name in England before. It was not uncommon to do so as Hadrian had witnessed a great deal of purebloods doing this. It was almost like they were sizing up the person when doing so and engraving that person’s status in their memory to remember if they were related or spouse materiel.

 “Actually, I think that I knew your mother,” Auntie murmured, her hands limp in her lap as her eyes were unfocused. “I didn’t know her, Bellona Peverell, that well, but my son did. I always wondered if they would marry with the way they carried on. I think they would have if not for the war.”

Hadrian didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t sure what his mother’s name was in this world so he wasn’t sure if Auntie was talking about his new mother or not. It was most likely best to remain silent. Auntie seemed to be lost in her memories and probably didn’t expect him to reply anyway.

Auntie’s attention refocused on Hadrian’s face and she squinted, tilting her head as she did so. “Now that I think about it, it’s been fourteen years or so . . . Maybe . . .”

There was moment of silence as she simply stared at Hadrian before she abruptly stood up and moved to leave the room.

“Excuse me, Baby Deer,” she said loudly. “I have something to check on, something very important. I’ll be back shortly.”

The door didn’t slam behind her, but there was a noticeable bit of force put into closing the door. Hadrian was curious as what had sparked something in her, but couldn’t be bothered as the owl bit his finger to remind him of the response it required.

“Got it,” Hadrian very quietly forced out after wordlessly practicing the words in his mouth, struggling through the mental pain. He would have to continue to practice speaking if he was to survive Hogwarts and not be branded a mute. What better time to start than with a bird that can’t judge you?

Two days passed and it was the third Hadrian was certain that he had been correct to tell the goblins he would meet them in four days. He was physically able to walk on his own and there was little to no pain. He might have felt inclined to meet them today if not Auntie’s insistence that he give his body this last day since he had already agreed on a day. It wouldn’t look very good for his character, she had told him. She had argued the goblins might take offense to suddenly changing his mind and coming a day early when they’re already prepared for the next day. Though her argument was a bit flimsy in Hadrian’s eyes, he couldn’t ignore the excellent point she had made. Not to mention she was still searching for something and it had captured his curiosity. It had to be of grave importance for her to spend so much combing her manor for it, not that she would reveal what the object was or her reasons for needing it so desperately at the moment.

“I found it!” Auntie cheered as she twirled as much as her elderly body would allow her, grinning all the while. “I finally found it, Baby Deer.”

Hadrian gave her a small smile, easing back into his comfortable chair that resided in her sitting room. He licked his lips and formed the word he wanted to say, but his voice was a breath above a whisper. “Good.”

Though he considered this one of his poor results, no one could deny that he hadn’t been trying his best and he had. He had spent these last two days practicing forming his words again and actually attempting to get his body to cooperate in using his voice. He had found some improvement with single-worded answers, but was dismayed that it still required so much effort to say a single word to another human being. Hadrian imagined that it was because of the trauma he had endured with his capturers and what they had done to him to enforce his silence, but that didn’t mean that he could go on that way. He wanted to get better and though he knew that just being able to say one word was leaps and bounds ahead of where he had started, he would have to be much better to survive his classes at Hogwarts.

Combine this with the sinking notion that he was certain that his muteness would be worse to control among people he didn’t know or trust and that this progress may be due to Auntie being backed by Death, Hadrian was worried that he might have to postpone going to Hogwarts until next year. If he were given a year to recover and heal his emotional and mental scars, then he would be better prepared and ready to being swarmed by young students. Probably.

“Now all is left to do is kill my son,” Auntie mused darkly, her grin remaining on her face as she began twirling out of the room. She stopped, however, and turned to Hadrian with a pout on her lips. “Though I suppose I should confirm before I do something so drastic.”

Hadrian’s eyebrows furrowed, but did not attempt to speak again.

“Hadrian, be a dear and hand me the book on the table next to you.”

This request served to only deepen his confusion, but nevertheless he wordlessly picked up the thick book and held it in front of him. Auntie made no effort to cross the room to retrieve the book, however, and instead beamed at him, her pout melting into a large smile.

“Oh, how wonderful, Baby Deer!” she crowed, clapping her hands with happiness that left Hadrian stumped. “I’ve changed my mind. My son can wait, but you can’t. You’re leaving in the morning after all and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to talk with you again. So let’s chat away the day, shall we?”

When Hadrian nodded in befuddled agreement, Auntie called for her beloved house elf. “Tippy.”

“Yes, Mistress?” Tippy warily asked, most likely worried if Auntie would demand to find some other hidden item in the manor’s large attic.

“Please put the tapestry somewhere safe and in a place where I won’t forget about. Perhaps in my room? I don’t want to have this to slip my mind. Don’t you agree?” Auntie idly asked Tippy, walking to join Hadrian in the chair next to him.

“Yes, Mistress.” The elf’s relief was plain, but Auntie either didn’t notice or simply didn’t point it out.

“Now, Baby Deer,” Auntie started, patting his hand and ignoring the slight flinch that echoed throughout his body. “I was wondering if you had ever tried an omelet with ketchup before . . .”

And with this bizarre conversation starter, Hadrian knew he was in for a particularly odd last day with Auntie.

* * *

 

The next morning’s early rays of sunlight warmed Hadrian’s back as he sauntered into Gringotts Wizarding Bank, perfectly blending into the morning crowd with the clothes that Auntie had lent him. They were simple wizard robes, but tasteful and easily something that a humble pureblood would wear. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, having been a half-blood in his previous world and unsure as what his next blood status was. Nevertheless, he was grateful and would be sending Auntie the clothes back as soon as he purchased a new wardrobe for himself.

Thinking of Auntie lifted the corners of his mouth. She had been tearful just a few minutes previously, but released him with a promise that he would stay in touch and the mutterings of needing to write to someone else herself. He had given his word despite privately wondering if he would truly do so. She had helped him greatly and he had grown a bit fond of her, but communicating via letters required something that he wasn’t sure if he wanted: an owl. With Hedwig’s death, Hadrian wasn’t eager to once again bond with such an animal. Her death had left a scar on his heart and her memory still brought tears to his eyes. So this left his promise hanging by a feathery thread.

However, that was not an issue that he had to deal with right at the moment so Hadrian would revisit it when he bought his school items.

Sweeping thoughts of an owl under the rug, Hadrian walked up to the nearest goblin whose name he didn’t know. He licked his lips when the goblin’s beady eyes peered over its glasses and Hadrian fought to form words. He had practiced his new name continuously and relentlessly, determined to be able to say his name when it was required to do so. He had been successful in Auntie’s manor a few times, each a little less painful and a bit easier than the last.

“Hadrian Peverell,” he murmured, his voice still soft from the long disuse, but just loud enough for the goblin’s ears.

The goblin’s eyes flashed. “I see. Come with me.”

Hadrian followed the goblin into a private office who presumably belonged to the other goblin sitting behind the desk. He waited patiently as the two goblins whispered to one another in a language that he assumed was their native language and watched as the goblin who had led him there exited the room. Once the door shut and sealed with a clunk, the goblin folded his hands on his desk and gestured to the chairs.

“Sit, Mr. Peverell,” the goblin barked more than said, but Hadrian didn’t let the tone bother him. After all, goblins did have a reputation for being gruff and hard rather than being cuddly.

Hadrian nodded, sitting in the chair whose cushion had more in common with a rock than a pillow. He didn’t let his polite smile and air dissipate, however, and instead maintain them, knowing that goblins could find insult in the littlest of things. It wouldn’t be wise to offend the people who had his things and money, now would it?

“Now, before we start with explaining your new identity and all that implies, Death has deemed it necessary to give you a . . . history lesson of sorts and our deal with him as goblins leaves me unable to deny this request,” the goblin sneered before diving into his so-called history lesson. “After briefly learning your world’s political climate and history, I have determined that there are a few basic things you must be aware of if you are to assimilate to this world. One: Lord Voldemort is a name unfamiliar to us and we never experienced him as a Dark Lord, though the wizarding world had suffered Grindelwald as a Dark Lord in the past.”

A sigh of relief escaped Hadrian’s mouth. Knowing that there was absolutely zero chance of experiencing Voldemort’s terrorist attacks and wars eased his nerves. He truly would never have to deal with that madman again like he had dreamed for so long. On the topic of Grindelwald, however, that was something that didn’t worry him because the goblin made it clear that the man was either dead or had been dealt with. There would be no Dark Lord to destroy his future this time.

The goblin continued. “Two: the prophecy, though dealing with a differing Dark Lord, was spoken and affected young Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. However, this did not result in the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Potter and the torturing of Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom like in your previous life. They were in turn marked much like you had by Lord Voldemort and came out unscathed.”

Hadrian’s eyes widened, soundless words bubbling in his mouth as his mind soared to connect dots. The goblin had said that Lord Voldemort had not come to be in this world so why was there still a prophecy? From what Hadrian had experienced as Harry Potter, with a prophecy usually came with a villain. So who was Harry and Neville’s? Who were they fated to defeat if not Lord Voldemort?

A stone of dread sank in his stomach. The existence of this prophecy meant that this world wasn’t safe and was instead doomed to undergo a war that he wasn’t familiar with. Memories of blood and ash swirled in his mind, sending shockwaves throughout his system that resulted in his hands shaking. He didn’t want to witness the horrors of magical war again. He didn’t want to connect with people only to have them fall and bleed out in his arms. He didn’t want to go through the trauma, the agony, and the grief that was unavoidable in times of war. This had not been his desire when he was offered a new start. Not at all.

The goblin noticed Hadrian’s shaking hands and went on to clarify. “Worry not, Mr. Peverell. The Dark Lord that the prophecy spoke fell the night he attacked Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom and has been deemed deceased. He will not darken the streets of magical England ever again.”

Those words eased the dread and fear constricting his heart, but Hadrian couldn’t help drawing comparisons to what people had said about Voldemort to this other Dark Lord. Everyone had been _so sure_ that Voldemort was gone forever and rejoiced only to have him rise again. So how he be certain that this other Dark Lord was truly dead and buried? The simplest answer was that he couldn’t and would rather remain vigilant so he wouldn’t be caught off-guard. However, he wouldn’t have this uncertainty rule his new life here to the point that he was shaken by every sudden noise. Hadrian would have to find a balance if he were to have a fulfilling life at Hogwarts and beyond.

Satisfied with Hadrian’s reaction to his words, the goblin continued with item number three on his list. “Three: the political atmosphere is somewhat dissimilar to the one you are accustomed to. This particularly applies to citizens’ stances on Dark and Light magic. To put it plainly, Dark doesn’t equal evil as it did in your world.” The goblin paused, pondering something before speaking. “I suggest you research this as soon as possible so that you aren’t caught off guard or unaware in this world. There are textbooks that can elaborate this subject much better than I can and care to.”

This was curious to Hadrian, but shrugged it off, surrendering to this knowledge. He couldn’t really pass judgement on the subject when he didn’t know how the Dark and Light sides worked in this new world.

“The fourth item on the list is once again unlike in your world, creatures and the magical community have a better relationship. This is enforced with treaties and creatures having positions of relative power in the ministry. However, this is rather recent so there is still a stigma surrounding creatures. I would suggest refraining from being turned to avoid the spotlight.”

Upon seeing Hadrian’s curious expression, the goblin sneered. “Again, Mr. Peverell, I suggest that if you wish to hear more, research it at home. I don’t have the time to go into decades of political struggle and their somewhat recent breakthrough in the government. We still have to go over accepting your lordship, background, and your mother’s will. So why don’t we get started with those things, shall we?”

Slightly disappointed, Hadrian nodded and the goblin picked up the papers in front of him.

“Excellent. Now you already know your new name, I’m assuming?” the goblin asked, seeing Hadrian nod again. “Very well. So normally you would be accepting your position as the Peverell Heir, but since Lady Peverell is deceased and there is no one else to take your place until you are of age, the title of Lord falls to you. However, because you are underage, you require a guardian despite your Lord status.”

Hadrian’s eyebrows furrowed, visibly confused. He had no background with heirs and lords of houses so he was quite lost in what the goblin was trying to convey.

The goblin sighed. “To put it plainly, the Lord is the head of the household and family and has power over his family members in terms of who they are allowed to marry and so forth. The Heir or Heiress is the child who will inherit the title of Lord and is trained to understand their future responsibilities. Understand?”

Hadrian’s head bobbled.

“Good. Now despite the fact that you will be Lord Peverell in a few moments, you are still a child and require a guardian or a parent until you are seventeen. This person will have say over where you live and other similar things like all parents and guardians, but the difference lies in your status. Since you will be Lord Peverell, you will be able to vote in the ministry as you wish and have final say in who your new guardian is or isn’t,” the goblin explained. “Also, because the ministry will be busy elsewhere this year, it is safe to say that they will not notice your lack of a guardian until next summer. This leaves you some time to find a suitable guardian yourself should you deny your father the right.”

Hadrian eyes widened and he struggled a minute before he was able to produce words. “My . . . father?”

“Yes, your father,” the goblin said irritably. “You do know who he is, don’t you?”

Hadrian shook his head.

The goblin sighed. “I take it that Lady Peverell’s will will tell you such information. If not, I will take care of notifying you afterwards. Now let’s get on with you accepting the lordship.”

The goblin picked up an enchanted, small box off his desk and opened it, offering the elegant, gold ring to him. “Take it and put it on your right index finger. If it stays, you will be the new Lord Peverell. It will disappear if you are not.”

Hadrian eyed the onyx stone in the ring as he gently took the ring out of the box, hesitating for a moment before slipping it on. While he wasn’t sure what a lord did or the duties of one, he knew that such power would be helpful for his future. Most witches and wizards tended to avoid angering people with power and a pureblood name to back them up.

After a moment, the ring grew warm on his finger and Hadrian felt as if he had been embraced warmth itself, leaving him feeling protected from the world. The goblin snapped the box close upon seeing the ring’s acceptance of Hadrian and put it away in one of the many drawers in his desk. He gave the boy a minute before he decided to continue their business.

“Now that we have dealt with that, Lord Peverell, we must discuss your background. You are a pureblood and have been trained as such. Lady Peverell, despite being slightly eccentric compared to other pureblood women, was quite adamant that you were act like a pureblood. However, you do not remember your childhood as we suspected so Death said that he would take care of that issue once you have arrived at Peverell Manor,” the goblin explained, wanting to ignore Hadrian’s wide eyes, but knew that it was required information to know. “To put it simply, Lord Peverell, Death was able to give you thirteen blissful years without remembering your previous life, but with your previous memories unlocked, they have in turn smothered your memories of your life here. As I have stated previously, Death will help you in this matter.”

Hadrian wanted a moment to soak in this information, but the goblin relentlessly continued without batting an eye. “With that out of the way, let’s read Lady Peverell’s will.”

Hadrian blinked dumbly as the goblin began to read his new mother’s will, almost absentmindedly listening to the goblin’s words. He had a vague recollection that she had left everything to him with the exception of donations to charities and the hospital. There were words of comfort and love for him in the conclusion, but Hadrian had little connection to the woman and therefore was left with a vague notion of her. It did not help that he was struggling with the fact that instead of being in this world for a week, he had actually been completely reborn and had spent _years_ here without any knowledge of his previous life. Hadrian felt strange knowing that he apparently had some kind of amnesia. It threw him through a loop that he hadn’t prepared for.

But then something caught his attention.

“It says here that your father is Thomas Marvolo Gaunt,” goblin mused, eyes squinting at the paper before rolling it back up and nodding to himself. “I had forgotten about that. I will have to adjust the records now that she has deemed it necessary.”

The name of his apparent father stuck out to Hadrian, tickling a memory that was hazy and vague in meaning. He knew that the Gaunts in his previous world had ended with Lord Voldemort, but that knowledge could not be applied to this world. The family must have straightened themselves out and mingled with other pureblood families. It was bizarre that he was now considered a Gaunt. Would that mean he was still a parselmouth?

“Here is your key to the Peverell vault and the location of your family manor. The first time you Apparate there, your family ring will guide you,” the goblin explained.

Hadrian gingerly held his key and sealed it away in a spelled-pocket, protected against pickpockets and accidental losings. He quickly read over the location of his new manor and hoped that it was in the middle of nowhere. It would give him much needed space and privacy as he came to terms with his new life as Hadrian Peverell.

“Ah, yes, there is the topic of your admittance into Hogwarts,” the goblin grumbled, eager to finish. “Simply put, you are a student there, but you will be subjected to tests to see if you are at a third year’s level. Your tests will be taken tomorrow morning at the school and a teacher will be there to take you there at eight o’clock. Understand, Lord Peverell?”

Harry nodded, a brief smile gracing his lips. Though Hogwarts held memories of terror and pain, it was also his first home and he was eager to feel its warm embrace again.

He eyed Hadrian’s nod before he glanced over all of his paperwork. “We’re done here, Lord Peverell,” the goblin announced after a couple of minutes, making a shooing motion with his hands.

However, when Hadrian stood up to leave, the goblin cursed and handed him a scrap piece of paper. “I almost forgot. Make sure to go to the Prince Apothecary shop and pick up your order. It’s to help with your . . . speaking condition. It has been known to help those who have been held under the silence spell for a long period of time. Oh, and it has been paid for already.”

Hadrian’s neck tensed, taking longer than usual to speak. “You . . . know?”

The goblin scoffed. “Of course. Just because you have a new body does not mean you are able to escape the spell’s lingering effects. When a wizard’s or witch’s body and magic are subdued like so, it imprints on their core and it takes more than time to overcome it.”

Hadrian averted his gaze as he couldn’t help the overwhelming shame that itched under his skin.

The goblin ignored this. “Lord Peverell, keep in mind that the potion will not erase the psychological damage and will only _help_ your ability to speak, not completely rid yourself of the obstacle.” The goblin waited a moment for Hadrian to nod and then he once again shooed. “Now leave my office. I do have other tasks other than speaking to you.”

* * *

 

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall echoed the dazzling summer morning outside of the castle walls as the teachers of Hogwarts settled down for breakfast. With the new school year only twenty-four days away, the staff had to prepare their classrooms and become accustomed to living in the castle again, kissing their time off goodbye. The teachers would glance over their class material, adjusting just a couple of lessons here and there for new information recently announced or a way to mix up their classes. It was not a major reason to return to the school over three weeks early, but it was one of the smaller reasons to do so. It was among reconnecting with their fellow professors and look over the year’s new wave of first years. In other words, it was a time of preparing with a good dose of gossiping.

“I heard we’re getting an older student, Minerva,” Professor Sprout said as she lifted her glass of pumpkin juice.

Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow. “Pray tell, Pomona, where you heard such a thing? Are you having Peeves eavesdrop? Or perhaps one of the ghosts?”

Professor Sprout waved off her colleague’s insignificant questions. “It doesn’t matter. Is it true? Everyone’s dying to know.”

“Everyone?” Minerva echoed, leaning forward to at a look at all of her coworkers at the table.

One of the only teachers that met her stern gaze was Professor Flitwick who grinned unapologetically. “I was a Ravenclaw. A thirst for knowledge is in my blood. And is that a lack of denial?”

“So it’s true?” the History of Magic teacher questioned, vaguely curious.

Professor McGonagall sighed. “You’re like children, I swear. Are you certain you’re adults?”

“She’s still not denying it,” Professor Sprout sang, smiling all the while.

Professor McGonagall dug into her breakfast with a fork. “Albus should be here shortly. He will tell you what you wish to know.”

The moment that she finished speaking, the Headmaster of the school sauntered in and sat down at the table. “Good morning, Minerva, Pomona, Filius, and Marvolo. What is today’s most recent gossip? Something juicy I should hope?”

Professor McGonagall glared at Professor Dumbledore. “Please get on with it, Albus. They _somehow_ already know a bit about what’s going on, but not the full details.”

Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I see. Well, first off, the new boy’s name is Hadrian Peverell and he will be joining the third years granted he—”

“Peverell? As in _the_ Peverells?” Professor Sprout interrupted. “As in the Peverells that no one has seen in over a decade? That went into hiding during the war?”

“That is just a rumor, Pomona,” Professor Flitwick dismissed, but appearing a bit unsure. “They may have gone abroad during the war with Grindelwald. Many families did. And there is no evidence that they _needed_ to go into complete hiding.”

“As I was saying,” Professor Dumbledore said over Pomona’s response to have her quieten down. “He will need to be tested as he was homeschooled prior to his admittance here. The tests will take place here tomorrow at eight in the morning. However, I will need a volunteer to pick him up and escort him back here.”

There was a heartbeat of silence before someone spoke up.

“I will.”

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Very well, Tom. Now onto preparing your tests . . .”

The History of Magic teacher listened with barely half of his attention as he pondered over Hadrian Peverell. He had not heard the name Peverell in a great many years, fourteen years to be exact. When Bellona Peverell went into hiding for a reason Marvolo couldn’t name, the name was never uttered again in his presence and could be heard in only rumors. The name Peverell had weight behind and in it, setting fire to people’s minds when they could no longer be found. As far as Marvolo knew, Bellona had been the last Peverell and so he imagined that this boy had to be her son.

The thought of his ex-fiancée falling into bed with another man made his blood boil and his heart ache, but there was no blame that he could throw at others. Marvolo had made difficult decisions and that applied to Bellona as well, leaving them in dissimilar places and alone. He had chosen to stay in Britain and fight with all of might and cunning while she had gone in the opposite direction, fleeing to fade into obscurity. While he had not blamed her, he regretted being unable to persuade her to his side of reasoning and convincing her to stay if only for him. There had so many fights and obstacles for them to be together as a romantic couple for them to break apart like that.

It was sad and regretful, but maybe he could mend their relationship to at least a friendship. If there was no husband in the way, then perhaps he and Bellona could better it further into a reflection of what they once had.

As Marvolo thought over his memories of his ex-lover and the other professors discussed Hadrian’s tests, a familiar owl swept through the Great Hall and landed in front of Marvolo with a letter offered. Marvolo took notice of the gray owl and mentally prepared himself for whatever his mother had written to him about now. He retrieved the letter and, as always, the owl did not fly away. His mother was a bit childish in that she demanded to receive an immediate response from her darling son and would not give into his excuses.

Careful to not tear the letter, he opened the piece of paper and braced himself for an outlandish request or idea from his mother. Instead, as Marvolo began to read his mother’s words, he came to the realization that contents were not like he had expected of a typical letter from his mother. What had gotten instead was a letter of accusation.

His mind whirled as certain sentences stood out to him.

_How could you keep my grandchild from me—_

_Why didn’t you ever tell me—_

_Hadrian Peverell, the son of Bellona Peverell and you—_

_The Family Tapestry never lies—_

_You have a lot of explaining to do, mister—_

Marvolo didn’t know what to think about the accusation his mother had thrown at him. His first instinct was to deny that he had a son with Bellona, but it electrocuted a deep-seeded memory that was faint at best. He couldn’t recall any images or anything of importance, only a hushed voice of  familiar honey.

_“Will you do this for me, Thomas?”_

Bellona’s voice was a mere whisper in his ears, but he heard it all the same. The memory voice continued, reminding Marvolo of things he had long forgotten for a reason he couldn’t name.

_“You won’t be able to remember, not unless I . . . die or he needs your protection. Can you do that? Can you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“. . . Thank you.”_

Marvolo couldn’t remember anymore no matter how much he mentally searched in his organized mind. It was frustrating to say the least, but he didn’t let it show. He was the Heir of Slytherin, of course, and therefore was the perfect example of such. He had a cool façade, never revealing how much his mother’s letter and hint of an old memory had affected him. He finished his breakfast at a normal pace no matter how much he burned for answers and retreated to his quarters, wondering what he should next.

After minutes of contemplating his next move, Marvolo decided that if he had willingly blocked out memories to complete a favor for Bellona, then either he or Bellona would have secured a way for him to remember again. There were a number of ways to accomplish this, but the safest way that he could think of was entrusting the goblins. They were excellent secret keepers, cunning in a way to make the smartest Slytherin burn with envy.

Marvolo’s eyes burned with determination as he held Floo powder in his hands. “Diagon Alley!”


End file.
